Friday, June 10, 2011


Come to the margins
of rock and ruin,
stubbled and beaten
like dried parchment
coiled to a fine scrap,
a willful life swelling
from May rain
Out in the desert
something happens
that will steal your
breath, put you down on
your scabby knees old friend,
the petals unfurling at noon
just for you, along the hillsides
and benches above
the deep lakes
Now the tributes
are coming in
from the anointed ones
who know what to look for,
bitterroot showing the world
what can be done from nothing,
how life redeems itself
from yesterday’s loss

No comments:

Post a Comment